Senses Working Overtime
by kimberleenicholson2008
Summary: The fallout of Warrick's shooting. Can the team find justice for their friend? CAUTION: Spoilers! Read at your own risk.
1. Everything's Going to Be Fine

Hello

Hello! It's been about two years since I've been on the board. I'm formerly known as CSIFanatic08. I had completed two fanfictions before I quit. But, I'm back and I hope you enjoy my new stuff!

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or the show, just the idea behind it.**

His senses were working overtime. All he could see was the street before him as if he was looking through dirty glass. He could smell smoke. Not cigarette smoke. Not the smell of burning wood. It was more of a lead smell, one he had definitely smelt before. He could taste a thick metal taste in his mouth. The taste was as if someone had busted his lip, only now, it was in a greater quantity. The sound reverberated through out his head. Bouncing off his eardrum, making his body shiver. He could feel wetness peaking through his shirt and jacket; a sticky, warm wetness that seemed to be leaking out of nowhere.

And then, the pain hit.

This was no paper cut or stubbed toe. This was the pain of something horrible. The pain of something not right, something inconceivable. Surely this was a dream. He kept telling himself to wake up so that the horrible nightmare could come to a screeching halt.

But to no alas, his vision became more blurry, the smell faded, the taste more metallic, the sound began to disappear, and the pain and wetness he felt, began to overtake his body. He was dying, and he knew it.

He suddenly began to feel his phone vibrate, and the familiar chime played. It continued on for a few seconds, and replayed in a loop. He heard rapid footsteps approaching him. He then heard his name being shouted. It sounded like an earthquake in his ears. But then again, he knew that it was common for one to hallucinate when they've lost large amounts of blood. With no energy to say a word, he quietly and peacefully, dozed off to sleep, never to awake again. The last thing he felt were a pair of hands, firmly grabbing him and pulling him out of the vehicle. With his final breath he attempted to utter the name of the person who put him here. But, it was too late.

"Yeah, I work at the Las Vegas PD," Nick stated with a sense of importance.

"Really?! You have a big, important job there?" said Suzy, the waitress.

"Why yes, yes I do," Nick began to say with cockiness in his voice. "You see I'm the problem solver. I figure out who, what, and when. You follow?"

"That sounds amazing! It's like you're playing the game Clue all day long! I'm super good at that game," she said with a smile on her face.

"Oh you are?" Nick joked, trying hard not to laugh.

She nods her head at a fast pace; the same stupid smile on her face.

"Finding out the who, what, and when are easy!" She semi-shouted.

"You think so?" Nick asked with sarcasm in his voice.

"Well of course!" She stated loudly. "It's the _why _that's hard. You know? _Why_ do people kill people? Try figuring that out!"

"That's a good point," Nick said with a half smile. "Very good point. I've never thought of that before,"

"See I'm pretty smart when I wants to be," she said while nodding her head.

"Yes," Nick said with a smirk, "I'm sure you are."

They continue their chat while Suzy's manager, Sal, gives her the evil eye and tells her to get back to work.

"Hey when do you get off?" Nick asked after noticing Sal's glance.

"Whenever you do partner!" Suzy said with her country accent.

Nick nearly spits orange juice all over his booth.

"No. No, I meant when do you get off _work_!" Nick said while wiping up the mess he made.

"Oh," She says while blushing, "In about a half hour."

"Well, I might just have to order something else to eat now won't I?" Nick said wide-eyed and smiling.

"But you've just done finished you food? You're still hungry?" She asks inquisitively.

Nick closes his eyes and opens his mouth to say something when a BANG causes the words to get jumbled in his throat.

The entire diner looks out their windows, attempting to figure out where the noise came from.

"What the hell was that?!" Nick asked with a concerned look on his face.

"Oh, it's probably someone's car backfiring. You're not exactly in the nicest part of Vegas. Cars tend to do that every now and again…"

She continues to ramble, but Nick pays no attention. He knows what a car backfiring sounds like, and this was something louder, something more gut wrenching. He looks around the diner and everyone has continued finishing their meals.

"Yeah," Nick says after exhaling, "You're probably…"

Again, his sentence his cut off by the same loud noise. He looks up at the customers in the diner, and this time, no one pays the noise any attention.

"Okay that's not a car, that's gunfire," Nick says while reaching for his gun.

"Don't you think you're over reacting just a little," Suzy asked with a confused look on her face.

"No," he says forcefully, "I'll be right back."

Nick successfully removes his gun from its holster and puts it in the standard position. He exits the restaurant, gun and flashlight in hand. The alley in which he was standing was not exactly well lit. He looks in one direction and sees the main street that runs parallel to the restaurant. He shines his flashlight around the corner and down the street. Nothing of interest was on either side, except for a car that had just peeled out of the alleyway. Nick began to walk faster as he realized that this car probably had something to do with the random gunfire. He attempts to follow closer behind, but the car and the license plate are out of view.

He takes a deep breath and lowers his gun, while reaching for his phone. He spins on his heel to face the other side of the alleyway when he notices a car in the distance. He finishes dialing the number as he walks closer. The car looked extremely familiar, but from a distance, in a dark alley, he couldn't pick out any distinguishing features, until he looked closer. It looked a lot like Warrick's car. Same make, model, and color.

"But, Warrick headed home," Nick thought to himself. "He left what, five, 10 minutes ago?"

Then Nick noticed something that made his heart stop. There was glass on the ground outside of the car. Nick put the phone to his ear, and waited for the other line to pick up. He listened to the annoying sound on the other end as the phone call was being connected. Then, he heard a noise that sent a chill down his side. Warrick's ring tone began to play in the distance. He could see light from Warrick's phone illuminate the car. The phone cast a light upon Warrick's slumped over body.

Nick's heart dropped. His breathing became rapid. His pulse began to race and limbs went numb. He began a slow walk and then his feet began to move faster and faster. His arms pumped until they were flying through the air. He stopped two feet short of the hood. All of his worst fears came to light. His stomach began to sway and his head became cloudy. He forced himself to walk closer. He had to be sure that what he was seeing was real.

The investigator part of Nick's brain was temporarily shut off. This wasn't any old crime scene where he'd worry about evidence being tampered and the scene being compromised. All he saw was his best friend and brother, lying with his head against the steering wheel, bleeding, and limp.

"Warrick!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

The human part of Nick's brain was taking over. He grabbed the car door by the handle with one hand and the broken window by the other. He instantly felt a pain in his hand but his adrenaline was pumping too fast to care. He grabbed Warrick by the shoulder and torso and pulled him over the gearshift and passenger seat. Carrying Warrick with no help caused Nick to fall backwards onto his butt, while still holding onto Warrick.

With the fall, Nick's phone slid across the asphalt, just out of reach.

"Warrick?!" Nick shouted. "Come on man, talk to me,"

"No, no, no," Nick kept rambling, "Don't do this now. Come on!"

Nick reaches in his pocket for his phone until he sees it seven feet away. He stretches out his arm and tries to reach it. He could reach it but with Warrick's dead weight, it makes it almost impossible to touch. He continues to try to reach the phone, when Suzy walks out of the diner. She looks down the alley by the main street and then back towards Nick's end.

"Help!" Nick yelled after seeing her step out.

"Oh, there you are! I thought you up and left without saying goodbye!" She said with cheerfulness in her voice.

"Suzy! Listen! I need you to grab my phone right there and dial 911," Nick said while pointing her in the direction of his phone.

Suzy had not yet realized what was going on. She was dense as it was, and the darkness of the alley hid everything.

"Well, okay but what for…" She asked before screaming, "Oh my god! Where did all that blood come from!?"

"Damnit Suzy Listen!" He shouted at her, not caring about his tone. "Pick up the Goddamn phone and dial 911!"

She bends down at her knees and picks up the phone. She dials the three digits and presses 'send'.

"911 Dispatch what is your emergency?"

Suzy not dealing well under pressure gives Nick the phone, which he snatches out of her hands.

"Yes my name is Nick Stokes, I'm at the cross streets of Flamingo and 92nd Street. We have an officer down! Two gunshot wounds, one to the torso, one to the neck. We're in the South East alleyway behind Sal's Restaurant. Please, hurry. Come on Warrick, wake up for me."

"Sir," The dispatch states.

Nick doesn't answer.

"Sir?"

"Yeah?"

"Is the victim breathing?"

Nick places two fingers to Warrick's throat. He feels nothing. He tries again. Nothing. He grabs Warrick's wrist and feels a faint thump.

"Yes, he is!"

Suzy looks at Nick with worrisome eyes. She can clearly see that Warrick is not breathing.

"Is the victim conscious?"

"No, he's not. His eyes are half open though."

"Okay what I need you to do is grab anything your can and put added pressure on the wounds. Do you have any towels, napkins, anything to help put pressure on the wound?"

"Suzy, go grab some towels from the restaurant. Anything that can be used."

Suzy complies and runs inside.

"Sir, we have an ambulance on the way. I need you to stay on the phone with me, okay?"

Nick looked at his right hand and arm. It is soaked in blood. He holds his hand in front of his face, shaking uncontrollably.

"Sir?"

He has cut his hand on the window. The cut was deep and about 9 inches long, from palm to mid wrist.

He looks at the phone and sees the red, sticky blood dripping from it. Suzy returns with towels for Warrick.

"Sir are you still there?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm here. I have the towels," Nick said.

"Okay, what I need you to do is grab one or two towels and place them on the wound,"

Nick realized that he couldn't place pressure on both wounds and hold the phone.

"Suzy I need your help. Put pressure on his neck," Nick said forcefully.

Suzy stood there trembling and non-responsive.

"Suzy!" Nick yelled. "I need your help!"

Suzy made eye contact with Nick and slowly began to back up.

"Suzy, no! Don't!" Nick yelled again.

"I can't!" Suzy screamed before running back inside.

"Damnit!" Nick screamed as he hung up the phone and applied pressure to Warrick's neck.

"Come on Warrick, don't do this," Nick pleaded. "Don't please."

Nick threw his head back in exhaustion. His wound began to itch and become painful. His adrenaline had worn off and he was now feeling the effects of the cut. The three short minutes that this had been unfolding felt as if it was a lifetime. Nick fought himself. He wouldn't let his pain keep him from what he needed to do for Warrick.

Just as Nick brought his head back around, red, white, and blue lights began to illuminate the dark alleyway. Hope was here.

"They're finally here Warrick," Nick whispered. "Everything's going to be fine."


	2. Be Strong

Hello, Hello

Hello, Hello! This is the second chapter to the "Senses Working Overtime" series, and I hope you like it. I enjoy hearing the feedback, good and bad! So, if you have time, feel free to stop by and drop me a line!

WARNING: This fanfiction does contain spoilers!

Disclaimer: You know the drill. I don't own anything but the idea behind this story mmkay?!

Nick's breathing intensified as Warrick lay motionless on his injured arm. He bit his lip and endured the pain as the EMTs gathered their materials and rushed out of the back of the ambulance.

Nick felt as if he was in a nightmare as he watched Warrick being lifted onto a stretcher and hauled into the back. But this pain was much too real for it to be a nightmare. It all happened so quickly. They lifted Warrick off of Nick, and placed him on a backboard. They hooked up numerous tubes and wires as they took his vitals.

But it was when one of the EMTs attempted to take Warrick's pulse, that they knew something was wrong. There was no heartbeat. No thump, no twitch, absolutely no sign that he was still alive. The EMT looked at Nick with sympathetic eyes as he helped them load Warrick into the ambulance. They strapped him in and locked the stretcher down. Just as one of the EMTs was leaving the scene, she noticed the long gash in Nick's arm. They made eye contact as he realized that she had seen his injury.

"I'll be fine," Nick said with urgency. "Just take care of Warrick."

"I don't think so," she said while shaking her head. "We need to send for another bus. There's no way we can leave you here unattended with that kind of injury."

"Amy, we need to go. Are you coming with or staying behind?" one of the EMTs asked.

"I said I'll be fine," Nick said while covering his arm. "It doesn't even hurt anymore."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she said to him. "You guys go ahead I'll wait ahead for the next one."

The ambulance sped off down the street, lights and sirens blaring. Nick must have been out of it because he didn't even notice the police cars that had already blocked off both alleyways. As he looked closer, he could see one Government Issue blue Taurus pull in behind them. His vision became blurry as he attempted to focus on who was walking towards him.

Amy took her kit in one hand and attempted to grab Nick's arm with the other.

"Are you feeling light-headed? Dizzy? Nausea?" she asked while taking her gauge out of her box.

"You're not doing me any favors. What kind of EMT are you? You leave an ambulance that has a man in it, a man that's fighting for his life might I add, just so you could wrap my arm in gauge? What the hell is wrong with you?" Nick shouted as he stumbled backwards.

"Sir, you need to calm down. Everything's going to be fine, I just need you to sit still while I attempt to clean your cut," Amy said as she reached out with her gloved hand.

"Don't you dare touch him. He's evidence. Have you touched anything else that could possibly corrupt the scene?" said the man that was walking out towards Nick.

Nick turned his attention to the direction of where the voice was. Nick tried to correct his vision, and he could see the outline of a rotund man walking a few feet from him.

"Nick, tell me what's going on! What happened? Are you OK? Did you see anything? Anyone that could have done this?"

All of the questions swirled around in Nick's head, confusing him, making his mind numb and his head twirl. His eyesight began to blur and he began to stumble.

"My head," Nick managed to say while he tried to comprehend all of the questions.

"Sir, you need to let me treat him. He's lost a lot of blood and needs to take a seat."

"What's wrong with you, Stokes?" the man asked, then noticed the gash in his arm.

Nick's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he became light headed. He felt his body go limp as he crashed to the ground. He lay motionless except for his chest moving up and down slowly, as blood trickled out of his arm, and onto the tar of the dirty street. Just as all of his senses began to fade, Nick could see another ambulance pulling into the alley. He knew that he could stop fighting now. They had come to take care of him, and even more importantly, take him to Warrick. Nick closed his eyes, and gently went to sleep. He knew that when he awoke, things would be alright. At least, that's what he let himself believe.

The EMTs rushed from the ambulance and tended to the fallen CSI. Amy picked up her kit, and ran to the back. She jumped in as they loaded Nick into the ambulance.

"You take good care of him. He's one of our finest," said the rotund man.

"Sure thing, Sir," Amy said as she closed up the ambulance.

The Undersheriff stood there, chewing on a toothpick with a crooked smile on his face. He looked at the yellow police tape and knew it was going to be a long night.

--

Nick opened his eyes, and immediately shut them. The harsh light that was peeking through his eyelids burnt his corneas and gave him an instant headache. The area around his nose and mouth felt damp. The hot air that was leaving his nose warmed his upper lip. He was breathing but felt constricted as his chest moved up and down. His immediate thought was to touch his injured arm. It had fallen asleep and the tingly sensation began to bother him. When he went to lift his arm, he felt a cloth like rubber band holding his arm at his side. He went to lift his head, but that too was held down. He began to breath heavier, his thoughts running wild. The harsh light was back again, this time on his left side. The light slowly moved from left to right, up and down, clicking on and off.

"He's responsive to light stimuli. We need to get him a transfusion and soon. He's lost entirely too much blood," Paul, an older EMT, said as he fumbled with the many supplies that lined the sides of the ambulance.

His eyes, still recovering from its recent assault, opened up and blinked rapidly.

"War…" Nick kept saying over and over again.

"He's awake," Amy said with urgency in her voice.

"War…" Nick said groggily.

"It's OK. Just relax," Amy said as she patted his arm.

"What the hell is he saying?" another EMT asked as he prepared a sedative for Nick.

"I don't know. Something about Dionne Warwick or the Iraq War. I don't know. He's lost so much blood he could be talking about anything at this point," Paul said with a smile.

"It's Warrick," Amy said firmly. "He's saying 'Warrick'. The name of his friend in the other ambulance."

The back of the ambulance fell quiet as they realized that Amy was not amused.

"We're here to save lives and if that's not possible, then it's our jobs to make the patient feel 100 secure with us," she said with annoyance. "We're not here to crack jokes and have a good time. His friend is fighting for his life and you guys think it's funny to screw around?" She lay back against one of the walls of the ambulance and began to fume for a second.

"Actually, no," the ambulance driver said as he hung up his radio.

"Excuse me?" She said as she sat forward.

"Actually, his friend isn't fighting for his life. He just expired. They called it at the hospital. 3:47," he stated while looking in the rear view mirror.

"Damn," Amy said as she covered her face with her hand.

"You need to learn to detach yourself from the situation or this is going to be a hard and short experience for you. People die. It's part of life. You deal with it on your own time. Not here. We need you to have a clear head and we need you to focus. If you can't do that, than we can find you a nice desk position for you to work, ya got that?" Paul said with a firm tone.

Amy sat there biting her lip as she refrained from fighting back.

"He's not dead," Nick said as he slurred his words.

"Now would be a good time to sedate him," Paul said to the other EMT.

"Why? He's not belligerent. He's not causing any problems. Is it necessary to do that?" Amy asked as she made wide hand gestures.

"When you fail at being an EMT, and you will fail, you should really go into the mime business." Paul said as he took the syringe from the hesitant EMT. "Listen, do you want to be the one to tell him that the friend he was holding onto just 5 minutes ago just passed? No? Then yes, it's necessary." Paul flicked the needle and stuck it in Nick's arm. He applied pressure to the needle with his thumb and injected the serum into Nick's bloodstream. Nick instantly fell back into his deep sleep, where he remained until the ambulance arrived at the hospital.

--

**3:39 am**

"What the hell is going on here McKeen?" Grissom asked as he ducked under the tape of the crime scene.

"No, no, no," McKeen said as he backed Grissom back out under the tape, and out of the crime scene.

"What do you mean no? I want this case," Grissom said as he headed back under the tape.

"If you touch anything, I will have you arrested for obstruction of justice," McKeen said with a firm tone.

"You've gotta be shitting me right now," Catherine said as she walked into the conversation. "You're not gonna let us work this scene?"

"Absolutely not," McKeen said shaking his head. "Two of your guys are involved and I'm not about to let you come in here with your emotions on your sleeve. One mistake, that's all it takes. You know that,"

"Wait," Catherine said, "Two of our guys? I thought it was just Warrick."

"Nick cut his arm on a piece of glass as he was pulling Warrick out of the car. That alone probably tampered so much evidence that we're lucky to even have a case right now," McKeen said as he took his toothpick out of his mouth.

"What was Nicky thinking?" Grissom asked as he sat his case down.

"Well, he was thinking the same way you two are now, with your hearts, not your heads," he stated slowly. "That's why I can't have you guys here right now. Go to the hospital. St. John's. Be with your guys. They need you now."

Catherine, hating to admit when the undersheriff was right, looked at Grissom with glossy, blood shot eyes.

"You're right," Grissom said as he looked into Catherine's face. "You're right. We'll go. But keep us posted. I want to know everything," Grissom and Catherine headed back to their Denali, and sped off in the direction of the hospital.

Catherine and Grissom drove into the night with nothing but silence. Catherine looked out of the passenger window and bit her nails, a clear sign that she was nervous. Grissom gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white and they became sore.

"One of us needs to let Greg know," Grissom said as they approached an intersection.

After a long pause and a few deep breaths, Catherine dug around in her pocket until she found her cell phone. She flipped it open and positioned her fingers on the keypad. Her fingers twitched and shook as she thought about how she was going to tell Greg about what had happened. Her hands visibly began to shake profusely. Grissom, seeing this, grabbed the phone and her hands with his, stopping the shaking and taking the phone from her.

"Here, I'll do it," Grissom said sympathetically as Catherine began to cry.

Grissom held the phone to his ear and waited for Greg to pick it up. After three rings they reached Greg's voicemail.

"Hi, you've reached Greg Sanders. I'm unable to come to the phone right now, but please leave your name and number, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Thanks."

After a long pause, Grissom found the courage to speak.

"Greg, it's Grissom. Look, I need you to call me as soon as you get this. Something's happened and," Grissom said before pausing, "and I just need you to call me back."

Grissom snapped the phone shut and passed it back to Catherine.

"Thank you," Catherine said as she wiped a tear.

"For what?" Grissom asked as he turned into the hospital.

"For being strong," Catherine said as she unbuckled her seat belt.

Grissom looked at himself in the rearview mirror and let everything that was going on, sink in. He put his hands over his face and inhaled. He had to be strong. They needed him to be strong. His team needed him and he would be there for them. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. He slowly placed one foot in front of the other as he started on the longest walk of his life. He glanced at his watch.

--

**3:46am**

As they walked into the building, they noticed the crew pulling Nick on a stretcher through the emergency doors. They stopped walking and stared out into the distance. The ambulance carrying Warrick had yet to open their doors. Catherine grabbed Grissom's hand and held it tight. She closed her eyes as hard as she could and whispered a short prayer. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her gut. Little did she know, that Grissom had the same feeling, but couldn't dare utter the possibility of something being wrong. He gripped Catherine's hand right back and took a deep breath.

The doors to Warrick's ambulance finally burst open and a crew of four or five doctors spilled out the hospital. Hands flew everywhere as the doctors swarmed him. When they finally pulled the stretcher all the way out of the ambulance, one of the EMTs sat on Warrick's legs as they administered CPR. The EMT pounded on Warrick's chest, attempting to get his heart pumping. All of the crew worked feverishly as they wheeled Warrick in.

Catherine and Grissom's eyes met and they knew that what they had felt in their guts was true.

With one final thought, he closed his eyes and said to himself, "Be strong. Be strong."


	3. Cold and Alone

Hello

Hello! Back again! Third Chapter of Senses Working Overtime! Hope you enjoy! Drop me a line!

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

--

**3:46am**

Catherine released Grissom's hand from hers.

Her hands became shaky.

Her heart began to race rapidly. Could this honestly be happening? Could one of her closest and dearest friends be dying right in front of her eyes? Her feet began to move towards the entrance again, this time at a faster pace.

"No," she said with a hushed tone.

Grissom's mouth became dry. His throat began to close up and he felt the tears welling up in his eyes. He had been in this business for too long to not know what was going on. The way they were scrambling, falling over themselves to help this victim. It all pointed clearly to what Grissom and Catherine truly knew in their hearts. Warrick was dead.

They rushed into the emergency room and turned down the many corridors until they found a desk with an elderly woman sitting behind it. Her name was Arlene and seemed to be quite suited for the position. She was typing away on her computer until she saw the two storm into the office.

"Hi, how may I help you?" Arlene asked, her eyes wandering from Gil to Catherine.

"We're looking for a patient," Grissom said as he flashed his CSI badge.

"His name is Warrick Brown," Catherine added as she fumbled with hers.

"Let me check here," Arlene said as she began typing on the keyboard again.

The search took a mere 10 seconds, but to Grissom and Catherine it felt like eternity.

Catherine nervously tapped her fingers on the counter above the computer.

"Could you speed it up a little bit please," Catherine asked impatiently as she rolled her eyes.

"Just one more second," she replied as she clicked away.

In the distance, Grissom and Catherine heard the faint sound of a flat line. It sounded like a million decibels of feedback in their ears. Grissom turned around and faced Catherine. Tears automatically began to stream down her face. They took off in the direction of the ear-piercing sound.

"He was just brought into the Emergency Room! You can't go back there!" Arlene yelled as she watched them sprint towards the doors.

Two security guards caught them just in time before they ran into the restricted area.

"Whoa, whoa now," said the younger of the two men. "You can't go running into there."

"Let me go!" Catherine yelled as she fought the other. "I have to get in there; you don't understand."

"One of our guys is in there," Grissom pleaded. "You have to let us in!"

"I'm sorry but we can't let you go back there," the first guard replied. "It'll be safer for everyone involved if you just stay out here." Moving across the room, he sat Grissom and Catherine down into two empty waiting room chairs.

By this point, everyone in the room was staring at them.

"Let them through," Brass said as he came in through the doors, flashing his badge.

"But, sir," the guard said.

"But nothing. If you get in my way one more time, I'll make sure that you won't even get hired to write parking tickets. Do I make myself clear?" Brass said with a tone that neither Grissom nor Catherine had heard before.

"Be my guest," the guard said as he stepped aside, allowing the three of them to walk through.

The walked briskly passed many doctors, causing them to turn their heads and shout orders.

"You can't be in here!"

"Get security!"

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?"

None of these questions affected them. They were on a mission, and not one doctor was going to stop them. They began to look through the glass walls of each emergency room.

One room had a child being given CPR as she lay motionless on the gurney.

Another had an old man, being given a shot of adrenaline, which would hopefully cause his heart to beat again.

The third room caught their attention.

There lay Nick.

Pale and lifeless.

His arm was worse than what they had imagined. They thought he would be given stitches, maybe a cast. But, they never imagined that he would be given a blood transfusion for his wounds. Although they cared about Nicky, they could see that his heart was beating. They knew he was in much better shape than Warrick was.

They kept walking, looking into each room for a familiar face.

The final two rooms had the patients covered with white sheets.

The room on the left was empty. No nurses. No attendants. No one.

The room on the right showed a few nurses gathering up material and cleaning up the room.

The hallway became heavy and the air thick. The three stood there, looking from room to room. The room began to spin as the reality of it all began to sink in. Warrick is in one of these rooms.

"Alright guys. I talked to the boss," the security guard said, "and you guys can't be in here. I'm going to have to ask you to return to the waiting room."

The three stood there as if he had said nothing. They had to know. They had to find out which room he was in. It wouldn't bring him back, but it would somehow, eerily, ease the pain in their hearts.

As the nurse on the right was cleaning up, she had dropped a piece of gauze on the floor. As she bent to pick it up, she accidentally moved the sheet, causing it to uncover part of the victim's head.

Catherine looked to the room on the right and her heart rate jumped. She had recognized something about the patient in the room to the right.

"Oh," she said before the covered her mouth with her hand. She rushed between Grissom, Brass, and the guard and made her way to the outside.

Grissom, anxious to see what she saw, turned his head to look at the room.

Gil became breathless. He attempted to allow air into his lungs, but his mind was paralyzed. What he saw was permanently tattooed on his mind.

Warrick's curly hair and part of his forehead stuck out from underneath the sheet.

His skin.

So, pale.

So, cold looking.

So, lifeless.

"Oh, Warrick," he said as he walked out of the hallway. He glanced at his watch.

**3:49**

Brass stood there. Speechless. He was unable to form a word or even a thought. This was it. Their worst nightmare had become a horrible reality. One of their colleagues, friends, had been slain. The one thing they had never expected was now taking over their lives like a disease. Ravishing their emotions, eating their spirits. What was once a team was now a broken mess, unable to be fixed. Unable to cease the pain that they would inevitably feel as they attempted to put the pieces back together.

--

Catherine sped down the hallway passed the waiting room, passed the receptionist desk and into the dark, open air. She took a deep breath as her body began to feel weak. It was as if something had her by her throat, capsizing all the air out her trachea. She felt as if her lungs would pop. She found a bench outside and collapsed onto it.

She sat. Head down. Hands dangling on the sides of her legs. Defeated.

Her breathing became irregular. She could feel a pit in her stomach forming. This pit was digging a hole into her gut, she grabbed her stomach and prepared for what she knew was about to happen. She hopped off the bench, and walked two feet into the bushes.

The silent night was filled with the echoes of her gut-wrenching, dry heaves. As she vomited onto the cold, dry earth, she felt familiar hands grab her hair and hold it back. She knew that she had already barfed onto some of the extra strands that dangled by her face, but the person behind her didn't care.

She spit the last of it out and took another deep breath. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve as she closed her eyes. She turned around and found Grissom's firm shoulder there to hold her up. She buried her face into his jacket. She breathed deeply as she leaned on her friend.

This was what she was always used to. This is what Warrick was for her: a rock in the tumbling sea known as life. Problems that others would find trivial, Warrick found interesting, intriguing. He was her voice when she had cried so much that her throat would no longer function. He was her shield when Lindsay had hurt her so badly that she considered herself a failure as a parent. Warrick was there. Always.

And at this moment, he wasn't.

He was lying face up. Cold and alone.

Dead.

He had no one to share his troubles with, no one to shield him.

She took in a deep breath through her nose and expected to smell the same cologne that Warrick always wore.

Not this time. This time it smelt like, cold, stiff denim, and nothing more.

Realizing this, Catherine began to weep. She began to sob uncontrollably. Her tears and make-up smeared onto Grissom's jacket. But he didn't mind.

As Catherine, cried onto him, Gil placed his chin on top her head, closed his eyes, and wept with her. He held her tight not sure if he should let go. They stood there for what felt like hours comforting each other.

"Someone's gotta tell Sara," Catherine said, her head still buried in his arm.

Grissom swallowed. This was one of the unfortunate things that he knew to be true. Sara had to know. It was only right. He would want to be notified if something like this had happened, even if he had moved 4,000 miles away.

"And I just," Catherine said as she lifted her head, "I just…"

"Shhh. It's okay. It's okay," Grissom said as his mind raced, "I'll do it."

She shook her head, unable to say another word. He placed his arm around her, and they headed back inside. The automatic doors slid open causing a cold rush of air to surround them.

As they walked in, they saw Brass sitting in a chair, hunched over, speechless. He sat up straight every time a doctor walked out, hoping that they were there to update him on Nick's condition, and possibly give them a look into what happened to Warrick.

As soon as Brass saw them come in, he stood up, and shrugged.

"It's just…" Brass said before his voice became shaky. "Sometimes the good die."

Catherine shook her head and covered her face with her hand in an attempt to shield them from seeing her face. Brass grabbed Cath by the shoulder and pulled her into an embrace. She wrapped her arms around the human teddy bear and let out a sigh.

"Do you know anything yet?" Grissom asked as Brass and Catherine departed.

"Nothing yet," Brass said wiping a tear from his eye before it had the audacity to fall down his cheek.

The three exchange glances before taking seats in a circle.

"Anything on Nick?" Catherine asked as she crossed her arms.

"Nope. The doctor should be out any minute now. You think with our tax dollars that we could pay for faster responses than this," Brass muttered as he threw his arms in the air.

A few minutes of silence passed. All they could hear was their inner thoughts, tormenting them, trying to find a way through their lips and out of their mouths, but no. They sat there tight lipped and tortured. Just as Grissom thought of something helpful to say, a doctor walked through the doors and into their direction.

"Captain Brass?" he asked as he extended his arm.

"Yes. Uh, yes that's me." Brass answered as he stood up and shook the man's hand.

"I'm so very sorry for your loss," the doctor stated as he withdrew his hand. "I hope you know we did everything we possibly could do to save him."

"Do you know the COD?" Brass questioned.

"In my personal opinion," the doctor started as he opened up the manila folder, "I would have to say a severe hemorrhage from the neck. He lost so much blood, so fast. There was virtually nothing we could do."

"OK," Catherine said as she absorbed it all.

"Does he have any family?" the doctor asked.

In the middle of their own emotions, they had forgotten that Warrick's grandmother needed to be contacted. He was so close to her. They knew that this was going to break her heart.

"Yes he does." Grissom answered, "But I'll take care of that."

Silence fell. Everything that was happening was twirling around them.

"What about Nick how's he doing? When can we see him?" Catherine asked while looking at the doctor.

"Well, Nick also suffered a huge loss of blood. The broken window destroyed three ligaments in his arm."

The doctor made a face.

"What's that face for?" Catherine shouted at the doctor.

"The damage is so severe that there is a slim chance he will ever fully gain mobility of his arm," the doctor continued.

"Jesus," Brass exclaimed as he rubbed his hands over his balding head.

"You can see him as soon as the nurse is finished up with him. He's been given a sedative that will most likely keep him knocked out for a few hours," the doctor finished. "Again, I can't apologize enough for your loss." The doctor walked away and left them alone again.

They couldn't sit here forever feeling sorry for themselves. There were things that needed to be done. Both Greg and Sara needed to be contacted. Warrick's grandmother needed to be told. Someone had to be here for Nick when he woke up. Someone needed to team up with Ecklie and McKeen and find out what the hell happened. There were so many tasks, that wouldn't be done if they wasted anymore time.

"I'll call Greg again and try to get a hold of Sara," Grissom said until Catherine interrupted.

"And I'll stop by Warrick's grandmother's. Someone needs to tell her," Catherine stated with a sympathetic face."

"I'd love to stay here with Nick, but I've gotta get down to the scene. There's so much to do," Brass said as he buttoned his suit.

"Well we have a couple hours until…" Grissom stopped. He felt a vibration in his pocket. He pulled it out. The caller ID verified who Grissom knew it was.

He held out the phone for Brass and Catherine to see.

"Greg" was lit up with a blue glow.

Grissom made his way outside, realizing that cell phones were banned inside the building.

He walked past the receptionist desk and out the double doors.

"Grissom," he answered like he always did.

"Hey, it's Greg. You said something's going on. You sounded…" Greg said before pausing, "Scared or something. What's going on?"

"Greg, what I'm about to tell you may sound shocking, or even, fake, but I need you to listen." Grissom stated before taking a deep breath. "Warrick…"

He couldn't finish the statement. It was almost as if saying it only confirmed what he had feared all these years. Saying it out loud was the hardest thing.

"Warrick's what?" Greg asked. "Grissom, you need to tell what's going on."

"Warrick's dead."

There. It was out. He said it. It was done.

"What do you mean Warrick's dead? How? When?!" Greg became frantic.

"He was shot to death outside Sal's. Nick found him."

There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. Grissom even checked to see if he had lost the call. Greg was still there, but he just couldn't find the words to say. All Grissom could hear was heavy breathing. He could tell that Greg had taken the phone away from his face so that Grissom couldn't hear him crying.

"I'll be home soon," Greg said before he clicked the phone off.

Grissom closed the phone. The way Greg ended the conversation was so out of character. But Grissom didn't bother to try and analyze it. Greg was still absorbing it. He had a right to be upset.

He went to put the phone into his pocket, until he realized he had one more call to make. With hesitant fingers, he went through his contacts. He found the number of the one person he felt that he needed to talk to.

He waited for a few minutes and pushed the send button. He put the phone to his ear and silently hoped that he would catch her voicemail. He was almost there. One ring and he would be speaking with her automated voice. But alas, she answered the receiver.

"Hello?" She asked calmly.

No answer. Grissom couldn't find the words to say.

"Hello?" she asked again.

This time he'd find the courage to speak.

"Sss…Sara," he stated rather than asking.

The familiar voice on the other end made her hair stand on end. Goosebumps covered her body.

Her old life was beckoning her.

Would she answer…

… or simply let it go?

--

Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Discovered

Hello again all

Hello again all!

This is the fourth chapter of the "Senses Working Overtime" story!

I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it!

Her hands became clammy and shaky. The phone almost slipped out of her hand she was so nervous. Her mind began to race. Was it really who she thought it was?

No, not possible.

It couldn't be.

"Uh, hi. Hi," she said nervously.

"Hi," he replied back.

"Umm, Grissom. You know I asked you not to contact me," she stated half convincing. "I left you and Las Vegas behind, and I swore to myself that I wouldn't go back to either. I have to go."

"Wait," he shouted into the phone.

"Grissom," she said before sighing, "I can't do this. Not again. I've moved on with my life. I'm done."

She almost hung up the phone. However, something inside of her kept her on the line.

"I have something important to tell you." Grissom was finding it so hard to speak. The one person he desperately needed to talk to was finally on the phone and he couldn't even find the words to say.

Sara closed her eyes and tilted her head back exasperated. She grabbed her mug and sipped some hot coffee before continuing on.

"What is it, Gil?"

"It's about Warrick," Grissom started. At least words were forming in his mouth.

"What about Warrick?" Sara asked hastily before taking another sip of coffee. "Cut to the chase, Grissom."

"Warrick's…dead."

Sara's heart stopped. She literal felt the hot air escape from her chest and into the ice-cold room. She felt a tingly sensation overtake her body. There's no way. Grissom was wrong.

"No. No he's not," Sara said as she stood up.

"Sara," Grissom continued.

"No, Gil. I've been gone what, 6 months? And this happens?" Sara took a deep breath. It felt as if a hundred knives were poking her in her gut. She let out the air before the pain became unbearable.

"He was gunned down outside of Sal's Restaurant. He's dead."

The words echoed around in Sara's head. They bounced in and out, all around, touching every part of her cerebellum. The words tickled her eardrum; they played the drums on the lobes of her brain. The words made her feel as if she was literally in a whirlwind. She attempted to get a grasp on the situation as she opened her mouth.

The only word that she uttered was "When?"

"About 30 minutes ago," Grissom said.

"Umm. Uhhh." She stuttered and stammered as she attempted to clear her mind of all the racket going on in her brain. "I'll catch the first flight out."

"Okay," he finished.

"Alright."

Click. Done. Over with.

The most important discussion of his life and it ended in less than a minute. He could of kicked himself. He had set himself up for what he was going to say. He planned it out. He had rehearsed it what felt like a million times. It was perfect. Every time he was done, Sara promised to move back to Las Vegas. She promised to forgive him. She would come back to the team and would never think of leaving his side.

Obviously, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

He gripped the phone with a firm hand and slammed it back into his pocket. He wiped his face with his hand. He was tired. Borderline exhausted. He had had long nights like this before, but this one was completely different. The whole situation literally sucked the energy out of him. It stressed out every fiber of his being. It wouldn't be long until he couldn't stay awake anymore. He caught himself nodding off and would catch himself before he fell into a deeper sleep.

Grissom grabbed his phone again. This time her dialed Brass' number and put the phone to his ear.

"Brass," Jim stated in a less than enthusiastic tone.

"Any leads? Anything at all?" Grissom asked with no energy left.

"Nothing except that Nick's blood was all over the crime scene," Brass' statement caught Grissom's attention.

"And Ecklie's pissed?" Grissom finished.

"Actually, no," this shocked Grissom. "Ecklie is telling the rest of the lab about what happened to Warrick."

Brass completed the statement as he stared out of his glass office at the lab techs all of them standing around Ecklie, hoping that the rumors the night crew had brought into the lab were all wrong. Brass could tell when Ecklie had dropped the bomb because he saw Wendy and Hodges' emotions rise to the surface.

"They're not taking it well, Gil."

Grissom's heart sank. In the midst of all the chaos and emotions, he forgot what a staple Warrick was in the everyday life of most of the lab techs. Warrick worked with these people everyday. Day in and day out, Warrick was there.

"I didn't even think," Grissom started to say.

"I know. Me either," Jim finished. "You don't notice the outward ripple of a death until it affects you and you're a part of it."

"Yeah," Grissom said. "I, uh, I gotta call Catherine. She went home to let Lindsay know what was going on."

"Ahh, shit. Is that a good idea, Gil?" Brass questioned. "I mean she's only a child."

"A child that knew and loved Warrick like an uncle."

"I guess you're right," Brass confessed. "I'll keep you updated."

"And I'll keep you," Grissom said before hanging up the phone.

Grissom had been on a roll. He had made at least ten calls in the last hour.

He opened the phone again and dialed Catherine's number.

It went three rings before Catherine picked it up.

"Willows," Catherine said, even though she knew who it was.

"How's it goin'?" Grissom asked as he stood up to stretch his legs.

The long pause on the other end told Grissom exactly what he needed to know. "Cath, I'm sorry. Telling Lindsay must have been hard."

"There are two things I can't stand." Catherine started, "Watching myself cry," she began, "and watching Lindsay cry. Maybe it was a mistake telling her."

"No," Gil told her, "She has a right to know. She loved Warrick and she deserves to know."

"You're right. She's just taking it so much harder than I thought she would."

"I wish I could have been there to help," Grissom offered.

"No, it's better you're there with Nick and Warrick. Speaking of which are there any new developments?"

"Not at all," Grissom stated before sharing in the heart saddening news. "Brass just told me that Ecklie rounded up the lab techs and told them what happened."

"Oh god," Catherine groaned. "I didn't even think about it."

"I know," Gil said agreeing. "You think a tragedy only affects you, not the ones around you. I underestimated the impact Warrick had on everyone. That is, until now."

"I know exactly what you mean," Catherine stated as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

After allowing the truth to set in, Catherine began talking again.

"So, how's Nick? Awake yet?"

"Nothing yet, just nurses going in giving him his medication."

"God, I can only imagine how Nick's gonna take it."

"I know. Warrick and Nick were like brothers. But I figure it's better Nick hears it from someone he knows, rather than some Internal Affairs flunky."

"Yeah, I agree Gil. Promise you'll let me know if anything changes?"

"Promise."

Just before Gil went to hang up the phone Catherine stopped him.

"Oh, and Gil?"

"Yeah, Catherine?"

"I love you. If it's one thing I've taken from this, it's to tell the ones you love, that you love them, ya know?"

"I know."

"Okay, well I'll talk to you later," Catherine said before she began crying again.

As soon as Grissom heard the call end, he muttered under his breath almost unable to be heard, " I love you, too."

**2 hours later.**

"_They're finally here, Warrick. Everything's going to be fine."_

Those were the last words Nick ever uttered to his best friend.

Clearly, everything was _not _going to be fine.

Nick's eyes fluttered.

He felt his arm twinge with pain.

His body was hot.

The reaction between the morphine and his cold body made him tingle.

He opened his eyes.

Blinking.

He covered his eyes with his hands and smacked himself with his IV tube.

He had no recollection of how he got there or why, until he looked to his left arm and noticed it wrapped with gauze. When he made a fist he could feel his skin tighten up as if it was going to tear. He looked around the room and he noticed the pasty white walls with their hospital scent coating. He took a deep breath and realized he wasn't even breathing on his own. He was being given oxygen through a tube in his nose. His immediate reaction was to grab the damn thing and rip it out of his body. All of a sudden Nick felt like a science project, almost as if they were experimenting on him.

He was so confused. Bits and pieces of the events prior kept falling into place.

The first thing Nick remembered was seeing Warrick in his arms.

Nick closed his eyes and shook his head in an attempt to shake the memory lose from the confines of his head. More and more fell into place.

Them lifting Warrick into the ambulance.

Then he remembered squinting to see the license plate of the car that sped away.

The ambulance ride to the hospital.

Seeing the glow of Warrick's cell phone against his face.

All of these events came back to Nick in full force. The events were jumbled and in the wrong order, but at least he could remember.

But just as Nick thought he had all the pieces together, he remembered the last thing he heard before he woke up here.

"_Actually, his friend isn't fighting for his life. He just expired. They called it at the hospital. 3:47."_

"No," Nick thought to himself. "That couldn't be right. Warrick couldn't be dead. There must have been a mistake."

Nick sat up in his hospital bed and became alert when he heard the machine beep, confirming that his heart rate had jumped.

Never waiting for assistance, Nick took out his IV and removed the pads from the numerous parts if his body. The machine flat lined completely, causing the room to fill with an obnoxious, ear piercing sound. Nick placed his hand on the nose tube and began to pull. He coughed and spewed and nearly gagged. He would stop at nothing to get this foreign object out of his body.

At this point the nursing staff and a team of doctors came into the room, expecting to resuscitate Nick. Instead they walked into the room and found him attempting to pull his nose tube out.

"Mr. Stokes," Dr. Scott, said slowly. "You need to calm down, stop what you're doing."

"Get this damn thing out of me!" Nick whispered as he continued pulling and yanking and gagging.

"Okay, we will, but we need you to lay down," Dr. Scott said in his softest tone.

Nick looked around the room at the five or six people staring at him. He laid back down in his normal position as he was told, and relaxed.

"Go get Mr. Grissom from the waiting room, please," Scott said as he spoke to one of the nurses.

"Get it out!" Nick yelled. The pain went from annoying to excruciating the more he thought about it.

"Okay, okay," Scott started. "Take a deep breath through your mouth when I say, OK?"

Nick nods his head.

The doctor positioned his hands, one on the tube and the other on Nick's neck.

"Alright. One, two, and go," he finished.

Nick took in a deep breath like he was told. The doctor guided the tube from Nick's airway, pulling it out of his trachea, causing Nick to cough and his neck and throat to ache. He went into a coughing fit prompting the nurse to put an air mask on him. He pushed it away from him and shoved the nurses aside. He was determined to get out of the room and to find out what the hell happened.

The nurse, Scott sent to get Mr. Grissom stepped into the waiting room.

"Mr. Grissom?" She asked as she approached him.

"Yes?" he replies.

"Mr. Stokes is awake," She said as she pointed in the direction of the rooms.

She walked him down the halls of the hospital. As he got deeper and deeper into the hospital he could hear a man shouting and yelling. Metal clangs together. Numerous people are talking in raised voices. As Grissom turns into Nick's room he sees him, in the corner threatening the people around him.

"Nick," Grissom states in an inquisitive tone.

"Grissom. Thank God it's you!" He sighs a sigh of relief and then gets down to what he really wants to know. "Where's Warrick."

Just as he took a step forward toward Grissom, Dr. Scott injected a sedative into his arm. Nick turned his attention to the prick in his arm and then made eye contact with the doctor.

"Why would you do that?" Nick asked before his limbs went limp.

The doctor made hushed noises as the group of nurses and doctors lifted him into the bed again. Scott turned towards Grissom who was standing in the doorway, unable to move.

"Doctor," one of the nurses uttered.

"Yes?" he replied as he turned around.

All of the movement Nick had done caused the stitches in his arm to pop. He was now bleeding through the gauze and onto the sheets of his bed.

"I'm sorry," the doctor started, "but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Grissom turned around and was followed by three nurses. The last one out closed the door to the room and walked down the hall. Grissom stopped halfway and turned around to face the window. As he stared into the room, his heart broke. Nick was lying there, completely out of it, again. The opportunity to tell him what had happened had passed. He would just have to wait until he awoke again. Peeking in through the window, Grissom could see Nick hooked back up to the wires and cords, his chest moving up and down slowly.

Just as they began to take of the gauze, the doctor could tell that Grissom was there. He ordered one of the nurses to pull the curtain around the bed, securing his privacy. Grissom took that as his cue to leave, so he turned around and headed back to the waiting room.

Grissom hated the silence. He couldn't take the waiting room anymore. He became anxious. Knowing that Nick would be knocked out for another couple hours, Grissom headed to the lab. At the lab, there would be no silence. And what Grissom needed the most right now was chaos, noise, something he was used to.

By this time, Warrick's body had been picked up and taken to the morgue where Doc Robbins and David could work on him. They too, were deeply affected by the death of their colleague. This wouldn't be any other autopsy. This was them slicing open a friend in an attempt to find justice for him.

As Doc Robbins walked into the cold room he noticed David standing over Warrick, just looking at him.

"Poor Warrick," David started before looking in Doc Robbins' direction. "I mean, he spent a good part of his life putting criminals away. There are so many cases solved because Warrick took the time to find the evidence. He found justice for people."

"I know," Doc stated before walking in David's direction, "It just doesn't seem right that he died at the hand of a ruthless son of a bitch. So young, so much potential, just gone."

"I almost feel honored," David said before slipping on his gloves.

"And why is that?" Doc asked as he did the same.

"Because, Warrick was a great man. And we get to find justice for him," David finished.

There was a long, silence in the room. The only things they could hear were their thoughts as they prepped the equipment for one of the saddest autopsies they'd ever have to do.

Doc pushed the record and play button on the tape recorder, and placed it on the table behind him.

David looked at Doc one last time for the approval to start. Just as David grabbed the hose to begin cleaning Warrick off, the double doors of the freezer came flying open.

"Don't David," Ecklie said as rushed in to stop them. "You can't."

"And why not?" Doc questioned.

"Because I have been given strict orders given to me by the undersheriff himself," Ecklie said before dropping his hands to his sides.

"What did he say?" David asked as he sat the hose down.

"He said that I can't allow you, Doc, or you, David, finish the autopsy on Warrick."

"And why the hell not. David and I are the best damn coroners in this whole damn precinct," Doc bellowed as he took step forward, crutches in hand.

"He doesn't want anyone emotionally tied to the case, interfering with the recovery of the evidence." Ecklie spit out.

"That's bullshit," Doc said as he took another step forward.

"Doc," Ecklie interrupted.

"No, Conrad. You know this is unfair. You know we should be working this case," Robbins said as he began to get flustered.

"Doc, we're bringing in people from County. Their unbiased and not emotionally invested," Ecklie started again before being interrupted again.

"Emotions or not, Warrick should be taken care of by people who love him, not people who don't give a shit," He said as he walked past Ecklie and out of the room.

David looked at Ecklie and shook his head. He took off his gloves and headed out the double doors. Just as he was almost completely out, David turned around and asked, "Can you do me a favor, Ecklie?"

"Sure, what is it David?" Ecklie responded.

"Can you tell the undersheriff to shove it? Thanks, I'd really appreciate it."

David walked out of the room without another word.

Ecklie stood there semi-shocked. David had never stepped out of line before, until now. Just as Ecklie was walking out he looked back at Warrick. With sympathetic eyes, Ecklie stared at him. He walked closer, slowly until he was at Warrick's torso. Conrad, usually the stern, unbiased type, looked at Warrick's closed eyes and said, "We'll find out who did this to you. I promise."

As Ecklie exited the room, he closed the doors silently, almost as if he didn't want to "wake" Warrick. Warrick laid their, eyes shut, body cold, and heart still. Just as the room had cleared, McKeen slowly slithered his way in. He walked in, hands in his pocket, with a pep in his step. He leaned over Warrick in a menacing, intimidating way.

"Awww," McKeen said as he walked around the gurney. "Poor little, Warrick."

He sighed as he smiled to himself.

"What were you thinking going against Gedda? Dumb, dumb, dumb. You see that's why I did what I did. I have a family too, ya know. And they need to be protected."

As he continued talking, he slipped on a pair of gloves. He knew he would have to be quick. There would be people in and out of the room to take a look at their fallen soldier.

He dipped his hand into the pockets of his suit, and took out a small, plastic baggy.

Inside the baggy were a few strands of hair. McKeen opened it up and with a pair of tweezers, placed the hair on Warrick's body; A few on his shoulders, chest and abdomen. He placed the final one in Warrick's hair. He zipped up the baggy and placed it back in his pocket. He removed the gloves and also placed them in his pocket.

"The perfect crime. I kill you and some poor street kid's hair ends up all over you. Can you say guilty?" he said laughing as he took the tweezers with him.

"I thought you were smarter than this, Warrick. But, I guess I was wrong." He stated with a sigh. "What a disappointment you are. You go and meddle in other people's business, and you end up dead. Tsk, Tsk. I mean you went out without a fight. No struggle, nothing. You just laid there like a little bitch and gave up."

He began to head for the exit as he heard faint voices in the distance.

"Well, I would say it was nice knowing you, but then I'd be lying," he smirked as he kicked the door open and walked through. The doors swung to a stop, where they laid silently.

Warrick slept peacefully on the gurney, never to be bothered by the problems of the world ever again. He lay there, covered from the hips down by a pure, white cloth. It gently hugged his body in the chilly room.

Warrick's face was the way it always was. There was no pained expression. Nothing. Just a pale, brown skin draped his face. His curly brown mop was the same as well.

The only thing in the room was Warrick, his sheet, and an instrument on the counter next to him.

The item made the faintest of sounds.

The sound of a tape recorder as it runs out of tape.

The play and record button jut out as the tape came to an end.

It lay there, waiting to be found.

Waiting to be discovered.

--

Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
